


Think of Delphi

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma's run out of T-Cogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of Delphi

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try something a little different with the pairing, and lean a bit more toward the darker side of the situation. You know which one by now.
> 
> Heavily inspired by [Rothinsel’s Drawing](http://rothinsel.tumblr.com/post/64876632923/thats-how-the-deal-went-pharma-was-not-amused). :D

Pharma stood on the outlook over the mining end of the facility. He bit the edge of his thumb, his spark fluttering violently in his chest.

 "It’s been quiet out there lately," First Aid said, walking up behind his CMO. Pharma removed his hand quickly from his mouth and forced his body to relax, lest his posture give him away. "I wonder what’s been keeping the ‘Cons to themselves."

"I’m not sure," Pharma said, taking care to keep his voice calm. There hadn’t been a attack in almost five days now on the mining facility, and it worried him. It was unpredictable behavior, and it twisted Pharma’s patience. "Nothing good, I suppose."

"At least it’s kept our med-bay empty," First Aid said, his voice uplifting and light. He patted Pharma on the arm. "Might as well count our blessings while we’ve got them. I’d rather be bored than the alternative."

"No one likes to lose a soldier on the table," Pharma said. He forced a small smile for the nurse. "That’s true."

No battles, no casualties. No casualties, no empty shells to be scavenged. A blessing to the nurse and the others stationed at their Primus forsaken base.

Trouble for Pharma.

* * *

One T-Cog.

Pharma held the sides of his head, staring down at the innocent body part taking residence in the center of his desk. The air cycled heavily through his vents, and he bit the side of his lip hard enough that he scratched the paint. One T-Cog. His back up. The one he saved for an emergency was now being put to use.

He had nothing to replace it with.

Another two days had past since his chat with First Aid on the roof, and there hadn’t been a peep out of the opposing army. Not a single dead soldier for an autopsy to cover up his secret scavenging. There had been one close call, but thanks to Pharma’s skill and a bit of luck, the injured soldier was now resting gently on life support. He’d live.

Pharma had never hated his skill as a doctor before.

If the ‘Cons kept up their stalemate for much longer, Pharma couldn’t predict when he’d get another T-Cog. At the rate Tarn burnt through them…

Maybe he could snuff the spark of a Decepticon prisoner…No. Autobots didn’t behave that way. Pharma snarled, the frustrated growl echoing in his office. Besides, someone would notice a dead prisoner when they only had two, and Pharma wasn’t sure he could pull it off without getting caught.

Sneaking out to meet Tarn once a week was difficult enough as it was.

Pharma covered his face with his hands, blocking his view of the blasted T-Cog on his desk. He’d just have to tell Tarn that supplies were limited. Surely the head of the Decepticon Justice Division could get a handle on his transforming addiction long enough for Pharma to scrounge up another T-Cog.

Surely.

* * *

"I have to say I’m surprised, Pharma," Tarn said, turning the tiny T-Cog around between two fingers. Pharma was hoping to explain the situation, install the fresh part, and leave. But, after Pharma’s initial warning that replacement parts would be scarce due to the stalemate, Tarn had taken the T-Cog and sat in his chair. "Of all Autobots, I’m rather shocked you’re not willing to get your hands dirty."

"Excuse me?" Pharma said. His fingers curled inward, but he dared not make a fist. "Forgive me for saying, but what exactly would you call our little meetings?"

"Pleasant," Tarn chuckled. He rolled the T-Cog to the center of his hand, and held it level with Pharma’s optics. "But come now, Pharma. You’re intelligent, and I do believe you mentioned there was a mech in your care."

"A living mech," Pharma stressed. "You can’t scavenge parts from living mechs. They tend to notice."

"Then don’t scavenge from a living one."

Tarn’s fist closed around the T-Cog, and Pharma’s spark nearly shattered with the spray of crushed metal. Tarn opened his hand and turned his palm, letting the remaining mangled part fall to the ground. Bits of it showered around the center on impact. A screw rolled and tapped into the side of Pharma’s foot.

Pharma gaped and stared hard at the ruined hardware. Enough that he was unaware that Tarn had moved, until his fat purple fingers were on Pharma’s face. Tarn held the doctor’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Every inch of Pharma stilled. Tarn’s straining T-Cog screeched in the silence.

"As I said, you’re intelligent Pharma. You’ll figure it out," Tarn said. He whispered into the side of Pharma’s helm, the gentle voice a more horrifying threat than a fusion canon to the helm. Tarn let go of Pharma’s chin. "Or I hope so, as it seems I’m in need of a new T-Cog for our rescheduled visit tomorrow."

"Yes," Pharma said, forcing a response. He didn’t want Tarn to linger. Change his mind. "Rescheduled."

"I look forward to it," Tarn said. As he left the room, leaving Pharma alone with a shattered T-Cog, he said, "My side does ache so."

* * *

His name was High Gear.

Pharma stood before the medical slab where the mech rested, assisted by a sedative solution Pharma himself had balanced. His name was High Gear. He and his brother Low Gear were regulars in the medical bay. His name was High Gear. He was still injured, his spark weak. But steady. He’d live. Pharma had saved him.

His name was High Gear.

Blue fingers wrapped around the dial that controlled the steady flow of drugs that kept the patient so peacefully asleep. He upped the dosage past the maximum safe amount, twisting the dial as far as it would go. The drug flooded into High Gear’s systems, and the body jerked on the table.

Pharma counted.  _One_. The patient’s name was High Gear.  _Two_. He had a brother.  _Three_. He was a regular.  _Four._  Pharma had saved him.  _Five._

High Gear was dead.

Pharma returned the dosage to its proper prescription, the steady flow now useless to the empty shell. The dead didn’t need pain killers.

Pharma would take the T-Cog in the morning.

* * *

"How did this happen?" First Aid said, data-pad gripped tightly in his hands. He flipped through the medical charts, one after the other sliding across the scream. First Aid shook in anger, the data-pad straining under the small mech’s grip. "He was stable."

"I don’t know, but I intend to find out," Pharma lied. It was easier than he imagined it would be. He put a hand on the nurse’s shoulder and squeezed, the tremor in his limb genuine. "I’ll do the autopsy myself."

First Aid stared at Pharma a minute longer than trust would dictate. A flash of distrust that worried Pharma’s spark, but it left. First Aid looked away, and Pharma breathed again.

"Alright," First Aid said. He flipped off the data-pad and set it gently on the table near High Gear’s cold fingers. First Aid turned away. "I’ll inform Low Gear."

Pharma could only nod.

* * *

"I knew you were smart," Tarn said, as Pharma prepped the operation table for it’s guest. He set each tool needed neatly on the table near the top of the bed. Tarn was stalling. "I bet it was easier than you were expecting, as well."

"Discussion isn’t necessary for this," Pharma said. He tapped the top of the bed twice, never once looking in Tarn’s direction. "Please get on the slab so I can get this over with."

"You don’t seem to be in your usual good cheer," Tarn said. The amusement in his voice churned Pharma’s tanks. "I wonder what has put that extra scowl on your face."  
  
"You’re smart," Pharma hissed. "I think you know."

"Guilt doesn’t suit you, Doctor," Tarn said. The tank stood directly behind Pharma, and slid his finger along the edge of Pharma’s wing. "You should hardly feel bad for doing your job."

"My job is to save Autobot lives, not take them," Pharma said. Tarn continued petting his wing, and he resisted the urge to slap the hand away. Tarn could break him. Crush him easier than yesterday’s T-Cog. Pharma could never forget that, but he controlled his hand better than his tongue. "But since you kill both sides, I doubt you’d understand."

"On the contrary, I understand quite well the desire to serve one’s cause," Tarn said. He set his hands gently on Pharma’s shoulders, his thumbs brushing the man’s neck. "I admire your dedication to the Autobot cause."

"I murdered a soldier to cater to an addict," Pharma said. "I hardly feel like an Autobot right now."

"Then perhaps I should humor you and explain," Tarn said, squaring himself behind the jet. He touched Pharma’s cheeks with the tips of his fingers, resting his elbows on Pharma’s shoulders. "Close your optics."

Pharma trembled when thick purple fingers covered his optics. The sound in the room intensified, including the rumbling engine brushing against his back. “What are you doing?”

"Explaining. I find visualizing works best, for matters such as these." Tarn’s hands surrounded Pharma’s head like blinders. The threat was apparent even without the words. "So, listen and do as I tell you."

Pharma reached his hand out and grabbed the operating table. He squeezed. This was his ground. Pharma could do this. Concentrate on the table, not Tarn. Pharma said,”Fine. I suppose—I suppose I can humor you.”

"Wonderful," Tarn said. Everything was darkness, but Pharma could hear him. He was everywhere, drowning Pharma with his overwhelming presence. Tarn whispered gently, "Close your optics, and think of Delphi.

"Your medical bay, your staff. The crew members that protect and run the mines that you service. Those strong soldiers who make that little base in the middle of nowhere their home. Think of Delphi. Are you doing it?"

Pharma nodded, gripping the table so tightly his fingers were surely leaving imprints. His spark ached in his chest. Was this Tarn’s special touch? A burning, as if it was over exerting itself. It pulsed heavily with each word. Was this what it felt like to have sound waves manipulate the energy of your soul?

"Good, good," Tarn continued. "Now, picture our little deal. You’ve run out of transformation cogs, and you come to me again empty handed. Little Pharma with nothing to offer for his half of the deal. No payment.

"What am I to do about that? This is hardly a charitable arrangement, now is it?

"Think of Delphi, Pharma."

Pharma covered his mouth, the hand slapping heavily across the lower half of his face. Pain surged through every inch of his body, as Tarn’s voice deepened. The growl in it sent Pharma’s body to shivering. His knees were weak, and he only stayed aloft due to the table and Pharma’s ever increasing grip on his helm.

"Think of it burning," Tarn said. "Imagine my frustration with those weakling grunt soldiers inability to overtake a simple mine. With no personal benefit, why should we spare it? An Autobot base on my Messatine. It’s affront to my senses.

"We’d burn it to start," Tarn said. He hummed, a gentle purr that rattled Pharma’s armor. "Just to ruin the building. I’m sure Tesarus and Helex would enjoy destroying supports and mining equipment, but that’s just warm-up work. Intimidation. No, no. The heart of Delphi isn’t the base, now is it?"

Pharma whined, and shook his head.

"You’re thinking of it, aren’t you?" Tarn whispered. "You’re thinking of Delphi. Your nurse, and your traitor. The soldiers, the miners. The people who trust you to fix their wounds, and kiss them goodnight. Delphi, your precious precious little Delphi. You want to protect it, don’t you, Doctor?

"It’s the Autobot thing to do.

"Sacrificing a few, to save the whole," Tarn whispered. Pharma’s fingers dug into the metal of the table. "Good decisions are always tough, aren’t they?"

Tarn pressed Pharma against the table, his hands leaving Pharma’s helm and wrapping them about his waist. Pharma didn’t dare turn on his optics. Tarn leaned his helm against Pharma’s, a clumsy attempt at a nuzzle.

"It’s easier when you think of things that way, isn’t it my dear little doctor," Tarn said. His hand slid past Pharma’s waist and rested on his thigh. "Whenever you have to do something you don’t want to do, close your optics and think of Delphi. It’s that simple."

"I guess it is," Pharma said. He dropped his forehead to the tabletop.

_Think of Delphi._

* * *

Pharma stood on the outpost overlooking the cliff side below. His med-bay was full, four dead shells and six stable bed-ridden fools. Four T-Cogs, and six potential harvests. Pharma bit the edge of his thumb, his systems fluctuating wildly. The Decepticons had begun attacking again two days after his last meeting with Tarn.

Pharma didn’t believed in coincidences that perfect.

"Are you alright, Pharma?" First Aid asked, stepping up behind his superior. "We’ve got word of more patients incoming. The ‘Cons are really hammering the mine hard right now."

"I suppose their previous absence was a build up for this constant assault," Pharma said. Again, the lies flowed easily, and he wondered if that was how it should be for an Autobot. Perhaps he wasn’t a very good one. "It’s a shame they couldn’t have put it off longer."

"Yes," First Aid said. He half-turned toward the main building, but stopped when he realized Pharma wasn’t moving. "Are you coming in?"

"Of course, nurse. I’ve wasted enough time staring at the scenery. Work calls, doesn’t it?" Pharma said, his voice a bit of a rush. The jet shook his head. Control. He had to have control of himself, or he’d never make it through—would he? Pharma smiled and stepped away from the edge. "I have Delphi to think of, don’t I?"


End file.
